


Think of England

by lindmere



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alien Planet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindmere/pseuds/lindmere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kirk goes AWOL, McCoy is dispatched to bring him back using his unique talents (yes, those ones).</p><p>Contains very slight D/s overtones and hints at outside manipulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think of England

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the wonderful [sangueuk](/users/sangueuk).

Normal people storm out of meetings when provoked. Jim Kirk sits through them with a patient smile and Sunday school posture and then disappears quietly without so much as a comm message for his putative best friend.

Now a half-dozen admirals, a dozen commanders, and assorted ambassadors have been harassing McCoy for almost two days with degrees of separation that sound like accusations: _You're his friend. You're his doctor. You knew him at the Academy._

McCoy wonders if they'd still care if Jim hadn't been halfway through vital negotiations over this sector's equivalent of the Suez Canal. He suspects Starfleet can always whistle up another bright-eyed young overachiever--maybe even one with the same unusual proportions who can fit into Jim's shirts—but the elders of Akarion have taken a liking to Jim, and have become suspicious in the wake of his departure.

When McCoy enters Kirk's quarters using his medical override, he finds Kirk's cache of civilian clothes gone, along with his few personal possessions. His uniform is folded neatly on the bed with his phaser and communicator on top and his biocoded official PADD at what McCoy considers an provocative angle.

He sends a unamplified subspace message to Pike and gets the reply 6 hours later: " _I'm surprised this didn't happen earlier_."

The crew, with little to occupy them in orbit, mope around the bridge, stealing glances at the captain's chair that Spock won't sit in. The Federation diplomatic delegation remains at the ruling legion's palace, reluctant to give up their beachhead. It's a stage waiting for an actor who missed the curtain and has no understudy.

McCoy beams down less because of his ill-formed ideas about helping and more because he can't stand it any longer. Ambassador Khora, the head of the Federation delegation, makes a great show of resenting McCoy's blunt questions about what he could possibly have done to piss Kirk off _that much_.

"It was a routine approach to a technologically advanced civilization, at least until Captain Kirk told us to, uh, do something to ourselves, and walked out." Khora presses her fingertips to her temples and rubs. "I have three messages from the Admiralty saying we have to get Kirk back. So if you know of a way to get Kirk back, doctor, I'd love to hear it. Otherwise, maybe you should dispense some tranquilizers, because we're going to be here for a long time."

"If Kirk doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

Khora gives McCoy a most undiplomatic sneer. "This is what comes of giving starships to boys."

By the time Communications configures a relay path for subspace messages, Starfleet HQ is a boiling soup of admirals and diplomats using hyperbole like a blunt object to impress all concerned with the seriousness of the situation. Jim is all but assured a court martial if he stays away a minute longer. Leonard is tempted to ask if it can be carried out _in absentia_.

He's really not surprised when Dr. Pallas tracks him down.

Pallas is a psychologist and McCoy's academic adviser from the Academy, which explains his avuncular familiarity but not his unsettling bluntness.

"So you really don't know where he's got to?" Dr. Pallas is enjoying his mid-morning coffee and biscuits. Leonard chooses to take it as an unsubtle reminder that he could have joined Pallas's staff at S-Med and had fresh-brewed coffee and civilization instead of the replicated stuff and heartache.

"No, Constantine, I really don't."

They sigh at each other across the light years.

"Leonard, I'm going to share something with you." He taps a little tattoo on his PADD while he continues to talk. "Didn't see any reason to before. These...things usually work themselves out, especially on long space voyages."

Pallas's long, lined face is replaced on the screen by a succession of still images of attractive young people.

"I don't see-- _Oh_." At least some of them are people Kirk dated at the Academy. "Why do you have a file on Kirk's exes? That's kind of, you know, creepy."

Pallas's face appears again. "Standard procedure for command track; helps avoid problems later on. And it often provides useful information--for example, in this case. Did you ever notice a pattern?"

"Well, I _think_ they all had genitalia."

"Heh. Kirk certainly does like variety. But no, there is a pattern. With females, not so much; he likes all shapes and sizes. But males...male humans, in particular. He likes 'em dark, Leonard. Dark hair, dark eyes, a little rough around the edges." Leonard begins to get a creeping feeling. "Professionals, mostly, but that goes for both. He wants intelligence, authority, someone he needs to impress; he doesn't like hollow victories. But he doesn't crave rejection, either."

"My god, man, where did you get your psychology degree, from a Cracker Jack box?"

"Are you really old enough to remember those? The nanobot prizes were my favorite; I had a million of them." His gaze unfocusses for a moment and Leonard tries unsuccessfully to imagine him as an innocent child. "Anyhow, just because a thing's obvious doesn't mean it's not true. Leonard, you're a handsome man and you give off an air of being...assertive. We discussed it at Personnel before your posting, you know. Admiral Quintinilla thought it might be easier if you had a committed partner, but I argued that your fear of intimacy would be just as effective at discouraging lovelorn young ensigns. Not to mention your general meanness."

Leonard's uniform feels tight and too warm; he checks himself from making the cliched tug at the collar, as Pallas is likely to take that as confirmation. Pallas's nickname around the department was "The Mindreader," and Leonard's never been less appreciative of his skill.

"It's a real luxury, having an academic appointment that leaves you time to discuss my love life."

"Your love life is rarely the top of the agenda. We're here to discuss Kirk, and how his sexual and romantic interest in you can be used to hook him and, hopefully, reel him in, for good. I'm fond of you, Leonard, but right now your primary use to Starfleet is as bait fish."

Leonard's open-mouthed shock and slight hyperventilation probably just serve to strengthen the metaphor, but he does his best. "Now, that's just offensive--"

"Trust me, there are lots of other metaphors you'd like less. Look, if you can reason with him, or persuade him to come back as your friend, good for you. If not--I'm just giving you some useful information. It's almost inevitable anyway, why not use it for a good cause? The Federation secures an important interstellar route, Kirk keeps his command, and you--"

"And I what? Whore myself out to my best friend?"

"I'm not saying you have to blow him or grab your ankles, Leonard. All I'm saying is that you use that good ol' fashioned Southern charm to make sure Jim Kirk comes back."

"Charm?" Leonard snarls. "I don't know where you got the impression I'm charming. Sounds about as accurate as every other ridiculous assertion in that file of yours. I'm tempted to find Kirk just so's I can tell him to stay away. You're all crazy."

"Now _that_ 's the keen diagnostic ability I remember from your Academy days." Pallas leans forward, preparing to snap off the comm link. "I'll see to it that you're well equipped. Supply-wise, I mean. Good luck, Leonard. Have fun."

+++++

They give him a hefty strip of credits, a non-Starfleet comm, and a suit of Akariid clothes that's expensive-looking, pale blue, and tight in unexpected places.

The whole idea is so tawdry and wrong-headed that Leonard almost feels honor-bound to go through with it, just to prove how absurdly out-of-touch they are. Jim's desires are more sweetly simple than any man he's ever known, and they don't include Leonard as much more than conspirator or audience. This ridiculous errand is an opportunity to escape from the Starfleet hive and find Jim, figure out what's going through his luminous but immature brain.

As to Leonard's own feelings...Pallas may have scarily accurate hunches, and he may have Leonard's medical records, but he doesn't have access to Leonard's fantasies. The sexual ones, Leonard presumes, are routine, especially on the _Enterprise_ , with its incendiary combination of life-threatening danger and brilliant, attractive beings. It's the other ones--the ones where he rubs Jim's shoulders at the end of a stressful mission, leans over and whispers _I'm here_ into the hollow behind his ear--that Leonard would pay any amount to keep safe from Pallas's keen attention.

Akarion's Night District is larger, lower-gravity, and more diverse in its offerings than a dozen other entertainment districts Leonard has been in on various planets. The steep, curving streets curl away at odd angles and vibrate with music, as if it's being broadcast underground. After a kilometer or so, Leonard gives up trying to follow directions on his tricorder and uses his knowledge of Jim as his lodestone. Luckily, a short, light-haired human is not difficult to find, especially since the Akarions average eight feet tall with cranial tufts.

The Universal Translator must make him sound like an imbecile, because when he asks the proprietor of the third-darkest _kep_ parlor where to find a light-skinned human, the being jabs a finger at the spun-glass curtain as if he's showing a dog where to find a stick.

Kirk is stretched out, limbs dangling on a sofa-like thing, smoking a pipe-like thing attached to a tall vessel full of clear liquid. He's wearing human clothes because, unlike Leonard, he's smart enough to know he'll be conspicuous anyway. Black clothes, like the day Leonard met him.

McCoy doesn't speak, just whips out his tricorder.

"Don't bother; it's just tobacco. Or something like it."

" _Tobacco?_ Are you insane? That stuff's poison." The air is rank with it, and he supposes Jim is as well.

"Aaahhhh." Jim waves a limp hand at him. "It's the least worstest thing I coulda had."

"You're drunk, too."

"Nah, just relaxed as hell. It feels great." His half-closed eyes flare briefly, and McCoy can see his dilated pupils, surrounded by a corona of blue.

"Glad you're enjoying yourself. You do know that everyone else is pretty much going batshit?"

"Yeah, I kind of assumed. Well, they'll get over it. They don't seem to be putting too much effort into getting me back, if they sent you." He punctuates this with a finger jab in Leonard's general direction.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The relief of finding Jim is passing quickly, giving way to severe annoyance.

"The first day, I took the precaution of getting a room in one of the cave hotels. Boy, was I surprised when the district was _not_ swarming with red shirts or the Akariid Guard. Today I wandered pretty much wherever I wanted, and there was _zippy_ , not even a 'Wanted' poster. At least tell me you bribed someone to find me."

"Didn't need to. Apparently you're not tipping enough."

"Shit. Guess I'm lucky it was you, then." Jim takes another drag off the pipe; it looks obscene, like a corrupted child. It's shocking how he's shed any kind of command authority along with his uniform. "Jesus, what are you wearing?"

Leonard looks down at the tightly wrapped quasi-toga that ends at his knees and decides to change the subject. "So now what? You wait for Starfleet to get bored and your ship to leave, and then you bum around the galaxy until your credits run out?"

"Is this the 'quitter' speech?" Jim's looking at the pipe between his fingers with the intensity of the moderately high. "I hate the 'quitter' speech. Coach used to use it on me."

"Did it work?"

"Actually, yes. It got me to rejoin the team so I could quit again."

McCoy gives in enough to perch on the arm of one of the lumpy, low-slung chairs. "So your life's work has pretty much been annoying responsible adults."

"Oh, fuck you. I'm--I was a starship captain for 14 months, not the pump boy at a hydrogen station. If you think this was some elaborate plot to stick it to The Man--"

"Fine. Then tell me what it was really about."

Jim gives him a cold-water glare that makes McCoy think he's not as wasted as he's pretending to be. He raises the pipe but doesn't touch it to his lips, just watches a thin curl of smoke leaking from it. The sybaritic routine is new and unconvincing.

"Those matter converters we brought along as tokens of our good will? The Akariids are planning to turn them into weapons. It's not just big talk; they have their engineers all ready to do it."

"So? Under Federation law they can't be used for anything but defensive purposes."

"Ah, but that's the thing." He pauses to take a slow drag and Leonard has to resist the urge to swat the pipe out of his hands. "We're not requiring them to join the Federation first. Ambassador Khora knows they want to threaten their trade partners into more favorable agreements, then sell the goods into Federation markets. We need a safe route to the Kendii system, and the Federation doesn't care how we get it."

"You reported this to the Admiralty? To Pike?"

"Understanding, sympathetic, completely helpless to do anything about it. So sorry you're a stormtrooper of imperial subjugation; don't worry, we'll let you be extra help-y to the next benighted civilization you run into."

"'Let me handle it--that's why they pay me all the credits'," Leonard says with a passable imitation of Pike's swagger.

Jim gives a wheezy laugh. "Pretty much."

None of it sounds right, but the acrid smoke is fogging Leonard's brain and it gropes its way back to the subject of his interest. "And how does running away solve the problem again?"

"I convinced the Akariid High Command that the Federation was trying to cheat them, and that if I disappeared it was because Starfleet found out that I ratted them out. They're egomaniacal bastards; they think that I'm so fucking impressed with their run-of-the-mill capitalistic civilization that I'd defect and join them. Offered me some ridiculous title, gold braid and the whole nine yards."

"Wait, they offered you a position _in their military_? And you told Starfleet that, too?"

"Of course I did." Some of the languid detachment drops out of Jim's voice. "Unlike, apparently, everyone else, I'm in it for the _mission_. Why does everyone think I chase after shiny objects?"

"Because you're young, good-looking and male. Call it a cultural bias."

"Okay, it's a cultural bias. Pisses me off. Now what?" He takes another drag on the pipe and tries to pass it to Leonard, who rolls his eyes and doesn't unfold his arms.

"Well, my advice would be to find some off-band communication link and contact the Inspector General for--"

"No, I mean, what do you want to _do_ now?"

"Nothing we do here will contribute to solving the problem." Leonard tries to look as stern and adult as he's able in a sky blue shirt that's open practically to his clavicle.

"No, but we still have to do _something_. Do you like zero-G dancing?"

Leonard looks at him sideways, not sure if he's serious or even capable of standing up. "God, no. I look like an idiot _and_ I barf."

"Mmm, and you've probably had a hard day, getting keel-hauled by admirals. Did they give you credits?"

To Jim's obvious amusement, Leonard has to twist his body to yank the credit strip out of his pocket and hold it up. "Yeah, lots."

"Then let's enjoy a last night on Starfleet. I saw a nice guest house about ten of these swoopy block-y things away." He makes a lazy snaking motion with his free hand. "Free _sheshnak_ and a waterfall in every room."

"So there's nothing I can say that will get you to consider coming back?"

"No, and I'm not going to try to get you to come with me, either. So we're free to have a good time." Jim rolls off the sofa with something like grace and stands with less trouble than Leonard expected. The customary shoulder slap he gives Leonard is as bracing as ever, but he lets his hand linger, leaning against him a little while he finds his sea legs. There's a confusing sequence of events that Leonard figures is settling the bill and then they're spit out through the glass curtains and onto the street.

It's early evening now, and the streets are coming alive. Besides being tall and noisy, the Akariids like to walk with linked arms and socialize in large groups, which makes navigating the sinuous streets a challenge. After almost losing him twice, Jim grabs his hand. It feels warm and dry in Leonard's own, a bright spot of human heat in this rapidly cooling alien world.

Any arguments he might have mustered seem pointless in the face of Jim's apparent contentment. Jim isn't angry or resentful or even marinating in his own martyrdom. He's evaluated all the options and made a quick, bloodless, and humane decision, just like he always does. Leonard, on the other hand, percolates with resentment of Starfleet's idiotic politics and the fact that he's about to lose his best friend.

The night air seems to sober Jim up; he's able to navigate the through-the-looking-glass streets and arrive at the hotel, a toroidal building sheathed in shiny fabric. Jim engages in what Leonard identifies as a transaction, even though it's mostly pointing and grunting, and a few minutes later they're walking up a spiral walkway surrounded by lush, blue vegetation and the white noise of falling water. It's like an arboretum crossed with a museum and in no way like a hotel.

Jim parts a glass curtain and they're in a room with curved, transparent walls and ceiling, full of vegetation and with a two-meter wide waterfall pouring down in the center, as advertised. The floor is littered with pillows, but there's no bed or any other furniture.

"This is a hotel room? Where do we sleep? Or take a leak, for that matter?"

"Grab a bunch of pillows and make your own bed. The waterfall's for washing and pissing. The rich Akariids are super into these things--health or spiritual well-being or some shit like that. Look, you can adjust the temperature." Jim waves a hand in a clockwise motion over the outflow, and within seconds the waterfall is steaming.

"Nice. Jim, what the hell are we doing here?"

"Don't you like it? We can go somewhere more humanoid, if you want."

"I mean, what are we doing in this situation? This can't be how it ends. We save the world and get promoted and travel the galaxy in a starship, and then you get pissed off about politics and vanish into the fog. _No_. Apart from a thousand people on the _Enterprise_ who you owe an explanation, this doesn't solve the thing with Akarion. If they're as venal as you think, the Federation can smooth things over or buy them off. So the Akariids become a photon superpower and a bunch of little worlds suffer anyways."

"You think I'm just going to run off and backpack around the system?" He flops down on one of the cushions while Leonard stays standing. "Why doesn't anyone think I'm responsible? Of course I have plans for what I'm going to do."

"So now you're going to single-handedly save Akarion _and_ show your former bosses the error of their ways? Okay, not irresponsible maybe, but a completely egotistical. Can't you at least _entertain_ the possibility that Starfleet knows what it's doing?"

Jim lies back against the pillows; it's been an uncharacteristically horizontal day for him, and Leonard has to crouch down to keep the conversation going.

"If I were egotistical, I'd think it was some kind of test of my loyalty or commitment to principle or something," he says to the ceiling. "But the evidence is telling me that it's good old-fashioned institutional corruption."

"You, more cynical than me? That's not possible."

Jim just gives a little snort and stares at the hypnotic flowing water, already seeming further away. Leonard is tired of discussions and arguments, purged of everything but the desire to draw him close, not to let him get away. Jim is right before him and already in danger of becoming a memory.

"Fine, then. I'll come with you." He says it flat and hard, defying contradiction.

Jim just gives him a little smile half-smile, the same one Leonard gives Joanna when she begs to go on long walks or watch boring vids just to be with her father.

"We're wasting a perfectly good waterfall. C'mon, let's get in." Jim pulls himself to his feet and does the magic hand-wave. The flow of water changes slightly, and when Leonard dips his hand in, he finds it pleasantly warm.

Before Leonard can object, Jim is stripping, unselfconscious before his doctor and friend. Leonard had almost forgotten Dr. Pallas's bizarre advice until that moment, and it seems more absurd than before when he glances from beneath his eyelashes at Jim's body, stone pale and untouchable against the iridescent tile.

He follows Jim's example, not turning away but not turning it into a display. When his tunic hits the floor, Jim says, "Thank god; that thing's ridiculous. Pastels don't do shit for you."

"It felt as bad as it looked. It's all I brought, though." _No toothbrush_ , he thinks; the least of his worries.

"We can buy you something non-embarrassing in the morning."

Leonard nods as Jim turns away, noting that Jim's gaze hasn't lingered a moment on his own body. _That's one for me, Pallas_ , he thinks, but feels disappointed.

Jim slithers over the edge into the outflow, a rectangular channel about three meters long and chest deep that runs down the center of the room. Leonard sits down stiffly and drops his legs into the warm water, a pleasant contrast to the cold tile under his bare cheeks. Even though Jim's the one running away, he can't help but feel left behind. His mind tries to reshape life on the _Enterprise_ without Jim, and fails.

Jim begins to wade toward the waterfall and Leonard hops in, taking the plunge into the flesh-temperature water and emerging in the large basin at the foot of the waterfall. Jim makes experimental gestures in front of it until the flow changes from a smooth fall to a scintillating random pattern.

Leonard knows what immersion in water symbolizes in many cultures: purging of the old life, initiation into the new. And again he’s struck with the wrongness of it. Jim shouldn’t be able to shed this life like old clothes, throw the keys to someone and walk away. The _Enterprise_ is his, the crew is his, Leonard is his, and they aren’t things to be tossed away. That kind of ownership has obligations. Leonard thinks that maybe it isn’t such a bad idea after all to demonstrate to Jim what those obligations are.

Jim tilts his head back, letting a jet of water stream over his head. Leonard hadn't thought too far ahead to how Jim would look with cascades of warm water flowing down his body, curling his hair and bringing a flush to his skin. Jim's lack of self-consciousness gives Leonard fresh prickles at the thought of betraying his trust, but it's titillating in itself. If Leonard were to make a move--a possibility that's creeping into his smoke- and water-addled brain--the main downside would be his own humiliation if Jim rejected him. Unfortunately for Leonard, that's a risk his dick seems increasingly willing to take.

Leonard wades closer, close enough to feel body heat, if there were much to feel. He’s looking for a sign, some field of attraction, something to tell him that Jim wants it too so that he doesn’t hand Leonard what he wants like a parting gift. Jim would do that.

When he gets close enough for animal awareness to kick in, Jim opens his eyes. They’re more bloodshot than usual, maybe from the salts that make the water soft. Leonard is standing in front of him, too close for naked men who aren’t willing to brush together in unexpected ways.

“Your eyebrows are doing that thing,” Jim says loud enough to be heard over the water. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to figure something out.”

“Yeah? Anything I can help you with?” Jim's expression is helpful and unaware. Leonard steals a glance as far south on Jim's body as he dares to bolster his courage.

“Maybe. Let’s see.” Leonard looks at Jim’s lips, tilts his own head a little, planning the angle of approach. For a quivering instant he hovers between doing and not-doing until a voice in his head that may be Jim's says _Do it_ , very firmly, and he does.

Bodies in water are a curious thing. The core temperature of a healthy human is 36.6 degrees, but skin temperature is closer to 32. Water that feels refreshing is cooler than the temperature of the skin, so it gradually leeches away body heat. Even water as warm as this can be fatal with prolonged exposure, but the main effect Leonard notices is that Jim’s water-slick shoulder is cool where he touches it, and that his lips are very warm.

It would be like plunging into warm water, this kiss, if he weren’t standing in it already.

It lasts half a minute, maybe a little more, Leonard exploring with his tongue, testing and rearranging, trying to figure out where to put his hands. The mechanics aren't perfect but it doesn't feel laughably awkward, the way Leonard feared. It feels good, and sends all the right more signals to his brain. Through it all Jim stands still, patient, breathing through his nose.

When Leonard pulls back, Jim blinks at him, face blank in amazement. The smile comes into his eyes before it does onto his face, and he laughs out loud, a bark that echoes off the tiles.

"Oh my god. Oh, you got me good." Jim’s voice is deep and thick with appreciation. He's completely sober now, or so it seems. "I guess I had that coming--blowing smoke in your face, dragging you here, all that." His chuckles trail off as he wipes water or tears of laughter from his eyes.

Leonard tries to sort his feelings into embarrassed or offended, and ends up going with angry. He grabs Jim by the shoulders and shoves him under the waterfall. He holds him there, spluttering, not long enough to get water in his lungs but maybe get some up his nose. Jim breaks free in short order shoving him back out of the way, and comes up spluttering.

"Shit, what was that for?" He wipes the water from his eyes and clears his nose with a honk. "You got me with that kiss, but you kind of suck with the frat boy pranks, you know? You must have been a barrel of laughs in medical school."

"I don't-- I just--" It's never been hard to talk to Jim before.

Jim's face falls a little, eyelids lowering, smile beginning to slide off his face.

"You weren't--you weren't serious, were you?" He makes the possibility sound terrible.

"How do you want me to answer that? If I say no I'm an asshole, if I say yes--"

"Is it yes? That would be okay, you know." _Christ,_ the last thing he wants is Jim's pity.

"I don't know what I want. I don't know why I followed you here. I just know I don't want you to leave, and--"

"You thought you'd seduce me? I'm sorry, but conventional wisdom aside, I'm not piloted primarily by my dick. The idea that you'd do that is--it's weird, but also--is it really that awful? Me leaving?"

"Hell, yes." Leonard says it with a sigh that falls like a leaf on the ruins of the evening.

"I don't know what to say except--I'm sorry." Jim hops up on the stone perimeter of the pool with a slap of his bare ass. Leonard perches next to him, not too close, and god damn him if it's all going to be about calculations of distance now. "Just out of curiosity, how far would you have gone?"

Leonard kicks at the water. "You'll never know now, will you? Another one of life's mysteries."

"I hate those." They're silent for a minute, and Leonard can almost hear the ticking in Jim's brain. “You were planning to fuck me into seeing reason?"

Leonard shrugs. “I was trying to get you to see there are other options."

“That’s the _exact opposite_ of seduction. You know that, right? Seduction is making people so crazy with desire that they forget their better judgment.”

"Who says it would have been against your better judgment?"

“So you’re not denying the part about fucking me?”

“It doesn’t have to be—I just thought—Christ almighty, do we have to keep talking about this?" Leonard abruptly wants this long night to be over and curses the Akarion orbit that's bent on bringing him 15 hours of introspective humiliation.

"No." Jim huffs out a sigh that ends in a little cough. "But you've got me thinking. How come you never tried this before? God knows I've had plenty of bad ideas for you to try to talk me out of."

"The usual cliched reasons, I guess." Leonard tries to keep his voice level and fails. "Not wanting to ruin our friendship, not wanting to be another face in the crowd."

"Oh, _bullshit_." Jim punctuates this by reaching down and sweeping an arc of water into his lap. "You really think sex makes a difference in how I treat people? Then you either think I'm a complete asshole--in which case you shouldn't be friends with me--or you waited until the _last possible minute_ to take a tiny risk because you're a coward. Jesus, I've never met anyone as fucked up as you when it comes to relationships."

"Yeah?" Leonard splutters, frustrated that he's unable to deny it. "Did it ever occur to you that I have a good reason? My god, _seven years_ \--"

"Oh, here we go." Jim slides back into the water, miming a collapse from boredom, and McCoy feels the adrenaline that's been coursing through him since the kiss happily repurpose itself for anger. "You're so battered and shell-shocked and haunted and whatever Southern Gothic shit you like to populate your brain with. I swear, your head is like this creaky old attic full of ghouls."

Leonard simmers, not trusting himself to speak, and Jim steers relentlessly forward.

"You know what I see?" He's wielding what Leonard thinks of as his staff meeting finger. "A great-looking guy in the prime of life with a pocket full of credits and easy access to spacecraft. Shit, you even know a pilot. And the guy you might possibly have been interested in fucking is right in front of you naked, and to make sure you don't have to deal with that, you're either going to throw a tantrum or disengage and sulk."

Now Leonard feels legitimately angry as a result of Jim having efficiently removed his courses of action. He sputters for a minute, looks around for something to throw, and finding nothing, jumps back into the water and pushes Jim over backward. He's tall but without a lot of mass, so he goes over easily.

He comes up splashing, not flailing but sweeping walls of water toward Leonard, who's drenched again and again while he's still--futilely--trying to talk.

"I just-- I can't-- _Quit it_!" He tries to fight back but Jim's long arms are too efficient, and he's relentless at this like everything else. After a minute he turns his back to protect his eyes and nose, annoyed by the noise and Jim's pointless overmastery even though he can't get wetter than he already is.

"You okay?"

"Of course." Leonard turns back to face him, flinching a little when he sees Jim's hand twitch.

"Lightweight." Jim ventures a smile.

"Do you have to be so god-damned good at everything?"

He shrugs. "I've got an excuse for this one. I had access to a pool, and I had a brother."

At the second _had_ , Leonard's eyes flick up to Jim's.

"Shit," Jim says, slumping a little. "Nobody knows me the way you do, Bones. But did you really have to wait until now? Because I don't want there to be anything you wanted that I didn't give you. But this really is goodbye."

"You're the biggest, most stubborn asshole I've ever met," Leonard says, heart filling. He raises a hand to Jim's cheek and Jim's smile is all the encouragement he needs.

When he kisses Jim again it isn't persuasion or anything more than running out of words.

This time he describes the contours of Jim's lips with his tongue, mapping and strategizing, looking for a way in. Jim's lips part, but it's no more than cooperation, doesn't lean in when McCoy wraps an arm around his waist, anchoring himself. Jim's slippery, truly and metaphorically, and the more Leonard tries to take, the less is there. He's like the shimmering transporter-beam afterimage of himself, and it's frustrating as hell. When Leonard pulls away and grunts "God damn it" into Jim's cheekbone, he feels like a parody of himself, foolish not because of what he's trying to do but because he's not succeeding.

Jim chuckles a little and wraps his arms around Leonard's back. This time, Leonard's compass needle has started to point north. He's not sure if Jim's noticed and if so, whether he minds, though his tone, when he speaks, is kind.

"You suck as much at this as I always imagined."

"Are you saying you've fantasized about me?" Leonard's chin is resting on Jim's shoulder, and they're beginning to create some warmth between their two bodies. Leonard lets his hand slide down Jim's slick back and then, with an inward turn of _what the hell_ , to Jim's ass. It's plump and firm, a contrast with the rest of his angular body.

"There you go," Jim says. "That's more like it."

"I don't want you to do this out of pity."

"You don't want to do this at all." Jim's voice in his ear is husky and confidential, and whether he's persuading or confirming, Leonard isn't sure. What he does know is that it makes him annoyed--furious, in fact.

He pulls away, gripping Jim's shoulders, no longer an embrace but a confrontation. "Who the fuck are you to tell me what I want? You're about to do something so far against your own interests it's a wonder your head isn't spinning around. If I say I want you then I want you, damn it!"

"Do you?" Jim is damnably calm, even affectionate, and it's god-damned patronizing.

"Yes." Leonard holds his ground and his gaze level, not an easy thing to do around naked people.

Jim doesn't answer, doesn't even lift an eyebrow, but Jim is a man of action so Leonard supplies the answer himself: _Prove it_.

If there's one thing he's learned from Jim it's the tactical advantage of being the guy who says "count to three" and then starts on one. _Deal fairly, fight dirty_ is practically a Kirk adage. So the first thing he does is hook his leg around Jim's knees and pull them out from under him.

Jim lands with a satisfying splash, limbs everywhere, and Leonard spins him around and gets him in a lifesaving hold he hasn't used since he learned it at age 12. It's supposed to keep a drowning person from taking you down with him, and it apparently works pretty well, not that Jim is fighting too hard.

Leonard drags him up to the shallow end of the pool where the bottom slopes slowly up to meet the floor. It forms a wedge that's perfect for pinning Jim's body against, underneath his own, legs straddling Jim's hips and buoyant dangly bits brushing each other in ways that Leonard refuses to find shocking. He's going to do this, and Jim's going to like it.

Underneath his body Jim is lax and amused, so Leonard wipes the smile off his face by kissing him hard and deep. The water they've both swallowed has washed away the taste of smoke and what's left must be the taste of Jim, sharp and slightly metallic.

He's got one arm under Jim's middle and the other anchoring them both to the bottom. He can't really grope, and things are too dynamic anyway, like making out in zero G (an experience Jim has assured him is difficult and overrated). But Jim is responding anyway, maybe to the intention more than the style. His hands grip Leonard's biceps and he curls a little. The reaction, however temperate, sends a jolt through him; he feels delicious apprehension at the thought of how he'd respond if Jim became truly enthusiastic.

Leonard puts a little more pressure against Jim's chest, a little more force into the kiss, and he feels Jim tighten under him. It isn't resistance; Jim's hands have come up to his shoulders and are stroking a little bit. It's like a key turning in an old lock, the moment when everything clicks into place.

He doesn't stop the kiss so much as move it toward Jim's ear.

"Let me," Leonard whispers, and Jim's body twitches.

Leonard rolls them both to a sitting position and stands up, wobbling coltishly with the return of the planet's heavier-than-Earth gravity. When he has his balance he reaches down to offer a hand to Jim and keeps it, leading him over to the area of floor that's knee deep in pillows. There's a stack of folded squares of material that Leonard chooses to interpret as towels, and he grabs a handful. Jim reaches out to grab a few of his own.

"No," Leonard says, a little more sharply than he'd intended. "I'll do it."

Jim gives an enigmatic smile and continues to drip while Leonard dries himself. Leonard wipes Jim down a little self-consciously, trying to be thorough but also charting a course ahead. Jim's body is familiar, not quite down to the freckle but close, but Leonard's interested to see how the fair hairs stand up on his arms, the way he holds himself when he's naked. When he gets to Jim's dick he towels it off, brisk and proprietary. It's impressive at half-mast.

"Remember, I've just been in the water for an hour. Objects may be larger than they appear."

Leonard tries hard not to smile. "Prove it."

He tosses the towels aside and half-sits, half-falls against the pillows, taking Jim with him. They land with a muffled thud. Now that Jim is anchored to earth Leonard can assert himself properly with mouth and hands, ranging over the canvas of Jim's body, committing it to memory.

Jim's head drops back and he arches a little, strokes a hand through Leonard's wet hair. Leonard steals a glance at his face and it's beautiful, or more beautiful than usual--eyes closed and lips parted, a pink flush beginning to show through the shadow of beard suppressor wearing off.

"Good," Jim sighs. "That's good."

Leonard doesn't really know long it's been since anyone's touched Jim this way. It might have been this afternoon, or it might have been months ago. He realizes abruptly that Jim stopped oversharing about his sex life when he became captain, and Leonard didn't ask, partly because he figured captains had to have their own way of managing and partly because he didn't want to know.

Jealous, he thinks. _I'm a jealous bastard_ , and he likes the feeling.

Jim flings his arms over his head, and Leonard follows his instinct to its logical conclusion, running his hands up Jim's wiry arms until they wrap around his wrists. He doesn't tighten them, just plants the suggestion--not force but mastery, possession. It's something he never could have thought of in the context of Jim, but it's been created by the near-vacuum of Jim's escape. It's a counter force pulling Jim back toward him.

He keeps Jim's wrists in his left hand and asserts his weight a little more, lets his right hand roam down Jim's side, fingertips skimming over his ribs and the sensitive hollows of his abs. Jim twitches but doesn't resist, just squeezes his eyes tighter and gasps. The sound reverberates through Leonard, bounces off his dick and is amplified back to his brain.

"Look at me," Leonard says, voice gravelly and demanding.

Jim's back arches and his eyes crack open. There's a slit of blue and red under damp lashes.

With his own eyes he compels Jim's gaze to follow him to Jim's groin, where warmth and youth have improved the situation considerably.

He's enjoying Jim's suspense, since Jim can't be sure how determined Leonard is. He lets Jim take in the proximity of Leonard's face and Jim's own cock, and it's a lot closer than medical ethics have ever permitted. He licks his lips, a purposeful cliche, daring Jim to laugh and say something obnoxious, but he's as riveted and focused as if what Leonard gave him was really an order.

He brushes Jim's cock with his lips and feels a shudder go through him; nerves are amazing things, and so are brains. Jim's seems to be fully engaged, observing with wide-eyed anticipation as Leonard brushes his lips down the pale shaft to his balls, his groin curiously scentless except for a slight tang of minerals, both of them washed clean of history.

Jim's fingers stray back to Leonard's hair. Leonard considers ordering his hands back over his head but it feels good, and if Jim's not out of his mind with desire that's all right because he doesn't want to win this one on purely physical reactions.

Leonard licks his lips and the sound of rushing water fills his ears as his mouth closes over Jim's cock. Jim slaps the pillow beneath his hand and arches, buttocks tightening so Leonard can slide his hands underneath them, so much smooth, muscular flesh filling his hands as Jim's cock swells in his mouth to drum-skin tautness. Leonard's own cock thrums in sympathetic response, but it's Leonard's atavistic need to _have_ that's satisfied.

He doesn't tease, but he doesn't rush, just enjoys the feeling of being surrounded by Jim, hot and hard in his mouth, hands light on Leonard's hair and shoulders. However he fantasized Jim might be in bed--aggressive, athletic, funny--he isn't that way now. Leonard's tongue has managed to slow down time, get Jim to pause in his trajectory away from Leonard's life.

He'd like to do this forever, but there are unfortunate practicalities; Leonard's knees are getting stiff, and his jaw is tired. He cups his hands around Jim's balls, brings his right hand in for an assist, and sucks with a little more force, looking for the trigger.

Jim comes with a shout that vanishes into the rumble of the waterfall. Leonard isn't afraid of bodily fluids and deals with Jim's efficiently, the bitter taste another intimacy that can't be erased. He holds Jim carefully in his mouth while he softens, letting Jim's gasps and murmurs be his guide.

Jim's eyes are closed again, but he cracks them open as Leonard pulls away, muscles uncompressing, to stretch out next to him. He drops a hand on Jim's chest, thinking about all the other things he'd like to do, the ways he's like to touch him, his own erection not guiding him but definitely an interested party.

Jim brushes back Leonard's hair, which is flopping in his eyes in a way he hopes doesn't look ridiculous. He'd like to enjoy Jim's tenderness but he's suspicious of it, not sure if it's innate or born of nostalgia. Jim's kind enough to provide him with an opening.

"Unbelievable. It's as if you make me want to regret leaving." His voice is husky and languid, and Leonard likes the thought that he made it that way.

"You're not going anywhere."

"That magic blow job changed my mind?" Jim's lips twist into an ironic smile that his eyes contradict.

"No, but I think it made you willing to listen to reason." Leonard rests a hand on Jim's chest and watches it rise and fall with his breath. "Look. You're too old to be shocked when people disappoint you. You're a lot more starry-eyed about Starfleet than you let on, and you practically lick the ground Pike walks on. That's not a bad thing--maybe it's even necessary to do your job. But it doesn't mean you can expect anyone to be perfect."

"You're perfect," Jim drawls, and Leonard flushes.

"Oh for--but see, that's exactly what I mean. I'm deeply flawed, probably even a terrible human being. But you've figured to deal with that, work around it."

"The world-class blow job has definitely sweetened the deal." Jim elbows a pillow out of the way so he can throw an arm across Leonard's chest.

"Right. Negotiation. You weigh the bad against the good." Leonard's having a hard time focusing on object lessons, as Jim's hand is brushing over his pecs and heading for his belly.

"So you're saying Starfleet owes me a blow job. Wait." The hands stops. "That's not what this was, is it? Starfleet wouldn't _send_ you to seduce me. 'Cause that would be unethical and also weird and insane."

Leonard chooses his words carefully but tries not to think so long that Jim gets suspicious. "If I didn't want to do this, nothing Starfleet could say would make a difference. This is me, Jim. If you want, it's us."

"Yeah," Jim says, guttural, satisfied, as if Leonard's given him more of an answer than he intended. "Now you're making perfect sense."

+++++

"Well, Leonard, you look rested--in spite of the fact I doubt you've had much sleep at all." Constantine Pallas's face is smooth with satisfaction, and it makes Leonard want to punch the comm screen.

"You could at least do me the courtesy of acting surprised." Dr. Pallas had waited until all personnel were back on the _Enterprise_ , but his victory lap could not be denied.

"Things are rarely as complicated as they seem when you're young. Food, sleep, sex--human beings are very simple."

"So you don't believe in love or art or the higher passions?" Leonard knows Pallas is a patron of the Klingon Light Opera, so it's a passable effort at a dig.

"Oh, I believe in them. I just don't trust them as motivations." He grabs a PADD and begins tapping ostentatiously. "I'm making a note in your record, changing your relationships status. You know that after the last Subcommittee on Interbeing Relations meeting, we're up to 67 different options? Which one should I pick for you?"

"The one that says, 'Subject declines to satisfy his adviser's prurient interest in his personal life and invites him to fuck off.' Especially since you neglected to tell me, or Kirk, that Starfleet was running a sting operation on Ambassador Khora. Wouldn't that have been a little simpler--not to mention faster and cheaper--than stage-managing this little sexual psychodrama?"

"Ah, but would it have had as satisfying an outcome? Strategic goals, Leonard, that's what we focus on here. We leave it to you to work out the tactical details. Signal loss over distance and all that."

"You know, maybe it really _is_ simple. You're all a bunch of clueless, meddling mindfuckers who've been at your desks so long your asses are growing moss. Jim's right; you've forgotten everything you've ever known about being out here, and your advice isn't worth the electromagnetic radiation it's printed on."

"I'm sure you're right about that, Leonard." Pallas makes a final tap on his stylus and it's like a needle jabbed into a nerve. Bristling with irritation, Leonard moves to end the transmission before Pallas can beat him to it.

"Damn straight. McCoy out," he says, and goes back to packing for his move to the captain's quarters.


End file.
